Simon’s home, on the other hand, had everything in a specific place. Except for a coat and sweater thrown over the back of the two dining chairs around his bistro table, there wasn’t a thing out of place. He immediately reached for those two items.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting them and moving them to the armoire near the front door. “I hadn’t expected company . . .” His voice trailed off as if he was not sure why she was there.
“There is nothing to apologize for. You should see our place,” she mumbled, perching on the edge of the couch.
Just mentioning their apartment brought back the scene from the day before, and her face fell.
“What’s the matter?” Simon rushed to sit next to her, his brow furrowed.
She shook her head, unable to get out any words.
“Where’s Mathieu? Is he okay?”
Nita clenched her fists at hearing his name. “He’s an asshole, is what he is.”
Simon’s eyes widened at hearing her words and tone. She had never used such language around him. In fact, until yesterday, she hadn’t really used such language at all. It was the one vice she hadn’t yet picked up from Mathieu.
She stared at the wooden planks arranged in a chevron pattern on the floor and said, “I came home yesterday and found him—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, but she saw in Simon’s eyes that she didn’t need to. He put an arm around her shoulders and whispered “I’m so sorry” into her ear.
Warm tears slid down her cheeks, a single line tracing each one, when she saw he wasn’t surprised. This reaction from a man who had known Mathieu for years said everything she wished she had known before she had ever met him. She wondered if she should have known from the start. But the reality was that she was a thirty-year-old woman who was dating for the first time in her life, if you could even call it dating, and she had no idea how the process worked. She had been sheltered and spoiled by the arranged marriage system as much as she had felt stifled by it. It eliminated the guilt that came from problems such as this because even if your husband was cheating, wives didn’t blame themselves. The wife typically had little say in who her husband would be, so there was nothing she could have done to avoid an unhappy marriage. It’s why Nita had never blamed herself for feeling suffocated in her life with Rajiv. There was nothing she could have done differently other than what she had eventually done: run away. But with Mathieu, the poor judgment had been her own.
“Has he apologized?” Simon asked, his voice low.
Nita met his eyes. “I didn’t give him a chance. I left when I found them together. I didn’t know what else to do. And I’m sorry I’ve come here. I—” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she finished softly.
“It’s okay.” Simon stared at the floor and shook his head. “He can make a real mess of things sometimes.”
Nita realized the position she had put Simon in—having to turn on his friend—and felt it had been wrong of her to come. She started to stand. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to speak to you about this. You are his friend.”
Simon grabbed her forearm, his hand strong and warm, and gently brought her back down to the sofa. “No, I’m sorry this happened. You needed someone. And I’m glad you felt comfortable coming to me.”
She forced a smile, and her moist eyes looked up at him. For the first time, she noticed the painting of Sophie he had purchased resting against the wall behind him. She smiled that it was in such a prominent place and then thought again of the pictures and paintings she had left behind.
“The worst part is I must go back to that apartment,” she said, still staring past him.
He looked over his shoulder to where her eyes had focused. “I need to hang it properly but thought that wall would be a good spot for it. That way I see it whenever I come through the front door.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Nita said, her voice returning to normal. “It reminds me that I left some things that I need to get.”
He turned back to her. “You mean you want to move out permanently?”
She was surprised he would think she would do anything else. “Of course. He’s been with another woman. And in that bed!” She shuddered at the memory. “How could I not?”
“It makes sense,” Simon said. “He’s such a charmer, though. He’s good at getting them back.”
Nita fixated on him saying them. There had been others. She was not special or unique. She supposed it shouldn’t have surprised her. She thought back to Dao’s warnings after meeting him. Everyone around her had seemed to know the truth, but she’d wanted to believe in her Parisian fantasy. She’d wanted to believe that she had given up so much in India because she would get something better in France.
As if he could read her thoughts, Simon said, “I didn’t mean anything by it. Only that in France, people seem less bothered by the occasional dalliance than perhaps you or I would be. It’s a cultural thing, I guess.”
Nita let his words marinate but still could not imagine how she could ever be in the same room with Mathieu again.
“I’m sorry.” Nita rose to leave again. “Surely, you must have plans with ?lise, and I’m taking up far too much of your time.”
Simon pulled her back down. “Would you please stop making excuses to get out of here?” He smiled at her. “You are free to leave if you’d like, but I’m certainly not looking for a reason to get you out.”
She nodded politely.
“In fact, why don’t I make us some tea?”
“Thank you,” she said, realizing how lucky she was to have made a friend in this city that was starting to feel as foreign to her as it had on her first day.
33
SOPHIE
2019
The sunlight feels warm on her face as she races back to the fifth arrondissement, worrying she will be late for her shift at Taj Palace but desperately wanting to run to the apartment in the Marais. Nita could still be living there! After all, Nita had lived in the same house in Ahmedabad for her entire life, until she got married, and Sophie has the sense that many Parisians do the same thing. What would she do if Nita answered the door?
Unfortunately, the address burning a hole in her jeans pocket will have to wait until tomorrow. That much she knows. Naresh Uncle has been so kind to her, and she cannot disappear when she has promised to help tonight, especially after the deal she made with Manoj. Sophie glances at her watch and sees she is eight minutes late and jogs the final block to the restaurant. She is breathless by the time she pushes the door open and races to the back.
“I’m so sorry, Uncle,” she says while quickly washing her hands and then donning an apron and scanning the kitchen to discern where she can be helpful.
“Don’t worry,” Naresh Uncle says with a familiar bobble of his head. “Manoj was just saying he wanted to teach you the samosas today.”
One glance at Manoj confirms that despite their conversation last night, he had not changed his attitude about teaching her the family recipes used in the restaurant. The filling and dough are already prepared and require only assembly. Manoj has kept the fragrant spice blends for the potato, onion, and pea filling a closely guarded secret since she began, calling them his magic masala. He had said it was his mother’s recipe, and she had known not to delve deeper. Instead, she takes a nob of the lot and rolls it around between her palms, making a small ball. It has a hint of cumin as she rolls it out with the velan, crushing the occasional seed, just like Manoj shows her. She takes her flat circle of dough and cuts it down the middle and then forms a cone by pressing the sides of one half together. She fills the cone per Manoj’s instructions and then pinches together the dough at the top to form the triangle that will go into the deep fryer when a customer orders it.